


For the First Time (Even After All These Years)

by GwynDuLac



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Meetings, First Time, Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: They meet for the first time - theyveryfirst time - when they are still boys. But they meet many times after that too, in different ways, until they find each other properly.





	For the First Time (Even After All These Years)

**Author's Note:**

> So. This happened when I should have been doing other things - like the next chapter of [Stand By Me](http://archiveofourown.org/series/542362), two scholarship applications, and fixing my laptop. But anyway. It's been a long time since an idea just popped into my head like this and then actually stuck around long enough for me to do something with it. 
> 
> [Please note that this is _not_ in the same universe as [Stand By Me](http://archiveofourown.org/series/542362). (If someone wants me to write Arthur and Lance's first time in that verse I'd be happy to, but this isn't it). ]

They meet for the first time - they _very_ first time - when they are still boys.

Uther Pendragon, exiled from Britain by his cousin’s move to seize the throne, came to visit his ally King Ban in Gaul. Lancelot is Ban’s eldest son, the Crown Prince. Eight years old, confident and cocky the way only a child could be. He finds the visitors interesting, but pretends not to, stays aloof from the newcomers.

One morning, with all the adults busy in some sort of meeting, Lancelot takes his wooden sword out to the unusually deserted training grounds to practice on his own. After a few minutes, he notices that he is being watched. Lancelot recognizes the boy, Arthur. He’d come with Uther’s household - small and very quite, with big, curious, _blue_ eyes. _Uther’s bastard_ Lancelot had heard several of the adults mutter, and so had mostly ignored the other child. Besides, Arthur is only six, much smaller and younger than Lancelot. He is crouched by the fence, watching Lancelot with those slightly unnerving eyes. Lancelot walks over and looks down at the other boy. He is going to say something arrogant and imperious, but Arthur glances at the sword and then back up at Lancelot and whispers, “Can you teach me?”

So Lancelot offers him his hand instead, pulls Arthur to his feet, and says, “Yes.” For the rest of the visit, Arthur trails after the older boy like a puppy.

They meet the first time - _properly -_ years later.

Uther is long dead and Vortigern has stolen the crown and there are rumors that Uther’s son may be gathering an army. Lancelot is twenty now, has travelled from one end of Gaul to the other, and is itching for an adventure, anything to get him out from under his father’s too-watchful, too-knowing gaze. So he leaves, sails across the narrow sea to Britain. It’s easy enough to find Arthur once there. The rumors of an army are no mere rumors - Arthur is eighteen and stands at the head of fighting force of united Northern Princes. Lancelot doesn’t know how Arthur managed that, but knows Vortigern’s beleaguered forces don’t stand a chance.

He is shown to Arthur’s tent; the younger man is sitting outside with a few others,  sitting in a circle around a fire, eating and talking. When he sees Lancelot he just... _stops_. Goes perfectly still for a moment. Those eyes haven’t changed. Arthur looks up at the boy he remembers so clearly from all those years ago in Gaul, those brief perfect weeks, and tells his heart to stop pounding. He stands slowly and reaches out a hand. They greet each other as equals, prince to prince, and Lancelot joins the circle.

They meet again - get to _know_ each other, that is - later still.

First there is just war, and more war, and then Lancelot has to leave for a year when his father dies. By the time he returns, Arthur is married. Lancelot likes Guinevere, admires her spirit, and perhaps he lets that show a bit too much. The rumors start, so softly at first, but soon grow louder and bolder until Arthur calls Lancelot into his study one night. Lancelot is a king now, and still older. But Arthur is the High King here in Britain, and Lancelot is well aware that no one stands above Arthur, least of all here in the heart of Camelot. Arthur calls Lancelot into his study, and Lancelot goes, expecting uncomfortable questions at the very least. He just hopes Arthur won’t send him away. They aren’t friends, exactly, but Lancelot would hate to have to leave. Arthur is sitting when Lancelot arrives, sprawled gracelessly in one of the two armchairs by the fire. He gestures for Lancelot to take the other, to help himself the mulled wine on the hearth. Lancelot does, because one doesn’t say no to the King, and because it is easier than meeting those blue eyes. There is a pause, and then Arthur says softly, “I won’t stoop to asking-”

“I would never. She is your wife, I would ne-”

And Arthur laughs at him, but it isn’t a happy sound. “I know she isn’t sleeping with you Lancelot. She’s having an affair, but not with you.”

Lancelot isn’t entirely sure why Arthur asked him here, but it becomes a habit, and then a routine, and then as natural as breathing. All through that long winter they spend their evenings drinking by Arthur’s fire, drinking and talking - mostly talking. About Guinevere’s desire for a child, and Arthur’s childhood as a bastard, and Lancelot’s disinterest in being king. For the first time in all the years they’ve known each other, they really _talk_ , and it feels like meeting for the first time, like what could have happened all those years ago if Lancelot had been less arrogant, and Arthur less shy, and their lives just a little more similar.

They meet in a different way entirely early one morning.

There was a feast that ended far too late, and the fire in the study had been allowed to burn down. Arthur leads Lancelot into his room instead - the room he should share with Guinevere, but hasn’t in so long. They sprawl on the bed, drunk not on wine but on laughter as Lancelot turns his biting wit to critiquing the nobility that Arthur finds so tiresome.  They find themselves facing each other, and the mood shifts minutely, and before Lancelot quite knows what is happening, Arthur reaches out and takes his hand and _kisses_ him. And doesn’t stop. They learn each other’s bodies as well as they have learned each other’s minds, and that is a privilege Lancelot never expected and can scarcely believe.

Arthur thinks, later, when he has a chance to actually think about it, that he has probably loved Lancelot since he first met him years ago on that practice field and Lancelot had held out his hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say 'hi' on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwyndulac) (I'm GwynDuLac there too). 
> 
> Kudos and comments are sustenance for writers, so if you enjoyed this story please at least leave kudos. If you leave a comment I can basically guarantee that I will see it, squeal embarrassingly, and respond as soon as possible, in that order ; )


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